


jenny calendar, director of parks and recreation

by sevensevan



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, chosen family, jenny calendar #1 fuffy shipper, just go with it, sitcom vibes, the btvs cast but its parks and rec but there are still demons everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24334243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevensevan/pseuds/sevensevan
Summary: Jenny Calendar is the director of the Sunnydale department of Parks and Recreation. Her responsibilities include fighting demons, covering up arsons, getting way too involved in her employees' love lives, and absolutely refusing to allow British jerks from out of town to take away her funding. Happy Jenny Calendar Day 2020!
Relationships: Faith Lehane/Buffy Summers, Jenny Calendar & Faith Lehane, Jenny Calendar/Anya Jenkins (past), Jenny Calendar/Rupert Giles
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	jenny calendar, director of parks and recreation

**Author's Note:**

> it is past midnight here which it means that it is technically may 23 and thus technically jenny calendar day. it is also like four in the morning everywhere that isn't here. oops.
> 
> i have mixed feelings about this fic. it was fun as hell to write, and i think it'll be fun to read, but it's also a lot of lighthearted, mostly aimless nonsense without any real plot or character development or, like, Anything. it also has far too much background fuffy for an ostensibly calendiles fic, but i was in fuffy mode from working on sotd while i wrote this, so it's what you're getting. on the other hand, apart from my self-deprecation, maybe a lot of plotless, lighthearted nonsense is what we all need right now.
> 
> either way, i hope you enjoy. in case you didn't read the tags: this is more or less the btvs characters in a parks and rec au, except not really because the supernatural still very much exists. to be clear: there are no slayers or watchers, there's just a lot of demons in sunnydale. it'll all make sense by the end.
> 
> hope you enjoy.
> 
> (also, i Did steal faith calling jenny "jen" from the braveryverse, because i reread imperfections recently and i'm still screaming abt it.)

“Vine demons,” Buffy says, kicking her feet up onto the edge of Jenny’s desk. Jenny shoves them right back off again.

“In Stevenson Park again?” she asks. “I thought we got rid of them last time.”

“I thought so too,” Buffy says, putting her feet on the chair beside her instead. “But I talked to Tara, and apparently we have to rip out the main root if we want them to stay dead. I can probably do it myself, but it’ll take awhile, depending on how homicidal the vines are.” Jenny sighs deeply.

“Alright, well, get to it whenever you have the time,” she says. “I’ll close the park for now, put up a sign saying there’s…a raccoon infestation or something.”

There’s a knock at Jenny’s office door. Willow, Jenny’s assistant, pokes her head in.

“Are you busy?” she asks. “You look busy. I’ll just tell him you’re busy and to come back later.”

“Willow,” Jenny says, frowning. “What’s up?” Willow steps the rest of the way into the office.

“There’s a man here from the state,” she says. “He says he’s an auditor? He says he was sent to balance the Sunnydale budget and that he needs to talk to you about possible cuts to the department.”

“Damn,” Jenny says. “I knew I shouldn’t have ignored that email.” She shrugs. “Okay, well, send him in, I guess.” Willow nods, ducking back out of the room.

“Budget cuts, huh?” Buffy says, looking back over at Jenny. “He must not have a clue.” There’s another knock at the door, and it opens to reveal a tall man in a tweed jacket and glasses, smiling hesitantly.

He’s—well. He’s certainly not _unattractive_ , and Jenny is very, very bisexual.

“Hello,” he says, opening the door the rest of the way. “You must be Director Calendar?”

“Ooh, British,” Buffy comments. Jenny ignores her, as she usually does. Ever since Buffy started… _whatever_ -ing with Faith, she’s gotten increasingly heckle-y. They’re rubbing off on each other, apparently.

“Please, come in,” Jenny says, standing from her desk. “Take a seat. Buffy, take your feet down.” Buffy pouts, but sets her feet back on the ground, leaving the second chair by Jenny’s desk empty.

“Right then, I—“ The man pauses, halfway across the room, looking at Buffy’s boots. “I’m sorry, is that blood on your shoes?” Buffy lifts one foot off the ground, examining the sole of her boot.

“Sure looks like it,” she says cheerfully. “Don’t worry, it’s not mine.” The man gives her a slightly wide-eyed, blank look. “Occupational hazard,” she says, flicking the Sunnydale Police Department badge on her shirt. “Don’t worry, my girlfriend waterproofed these babies. It’ll wash right off.”

“Your _girlfriend_?” Jenny asks, turning to look at Buffy. “Are you guys official now? I thought you were just—“ She makes a vague gesture with her hands, meant to convey _hooking up_ while also conveying that it would probably be inappropriate for her to use the term _hooking up_ with a younger coworker (not _technically_ coworker, since Buffy works for an entirely separate department of local government, but close enough) while a man neither of them have ever met before is in the room.

It kind of just looks like Jenny’s trying to do the worm with her wrists.

“We were,” Buffy says, understanding Jenny’s meaning perfectly. “But then we were at the Bronze Tuesday night, and she asked me to, and I quote, _go steady_. So…” She shrugs, and Jenny barely holds back a squeal.

“ _Go steady_?” she repeats. “ _God_ , that’s adorable. How did—“

“Um.” The other person in the room clears his throat, and Jenny cuts herself off, feeling a slight pang of embarrassment that will never make its way to her face. She had gotten a little carried away.

In her defense, Faith and Buffy are _really_ cute together.

“Sorry,” Jenny says, turning back to the man. “Take a seat, ignore the blood, you’ll get used to it.” She holds a hand out over her desk. “I’m Jenny Calendar, director of Sunnydale Parks and Recreation.” The man shakes her hand. His palm is warm and rough against hers.

“Rupert Giles,” he says, taking a careful seat on the chair that Buffy’s boots had occupied only moments before. He perches himself on the edge, away from the slight red stain where Buffy’s boots had rested. “I’m a budget specialist with the state of California. As I’m sure you’re already aware, Sunnydale’s government is facing a severe budget deficit?” Jenny nods, only half-listening. She’s a bit busy discovering that she apparently has a thing for British accents and dorky glasses. “Well, I’m here to help solve that deficit. I won’t lie to you, Ms. Calendar, this will not be an enjoyable process, but I will bring Sunnydale spending down to a reasonable budget.”

“Uh-huh,” Jenny says. She’s _beyond_ tempted to lean back in her chair casually—she had found it to be a great intimidation technique when she was deputy director; nobody expects a professional bureaucrat to tip her chair back like a high schooler in detention—but that’s exactly the kind of thing that kept her _deputy_ director, rather than the real thing, for a solid four years. “And why are you in my office?” Rupert blinks at her for a moment, confused, before he tries for a smile.

“Well, I wanted your input regarding cuts to your department,” he says. “You know this town and your job far better than I do, of course, and while I can’t promise that your preferred decisions will be the final ones, I wanted to offer you a voice in the proceedings.” Jenny gives in to the urge and tilts back in her chair.

“Rupert—can I call you Rupert?”

“I really prefer Giles, actually,” Rupert says, fixing his glasses in a sort of twitchy manner that Jenny finds rather charming.

“Have you read the Sunnydale Charter, Rupert?” she asks. Rupert frowns.

“The town charter?” he asks. “Do I need to?” Jenny lets her chair slam back down onto the floor and begins to shuffle through the papers on her desk.

“Hang on,” she says, “I’ve got a copy of it somewhere.” Finally, she finds it, buried beneath several hundred sticky notes and what looks suspiciously like an old takeout container. “There we go,” she says, handing the document over to Rupert. “Page 2, Article 1, Section 3.” Still frowning, Rupert flips over the pages and begins to read aloud.

“Section 3: In order to ensure the safety and sanity of its citizens, and to protect them from the…encroaching forces of evil and chaos…” He blinks several times, frown deepening. “…the City of Sunnydale shall establish a department of…Parks and Recreation, which shall receive any and all funds required for operations, as requested by the Director of the department, and shall under no circumstances be refused funds, unless found by the Tribunal of… _Vanquished Gods_ …to be corrupted by the forces they combat.” Rupert lowers the papers and stares at Jenny. “Is this some sort of prank?”

“Welcome to Sunnydale,” Buffy says. She pushes herself to her feet and looks at Jenny. “Can Faith take a break right now?”

“That depends,” Jenny says. “Are you two going to get caught making out in the hallway behind the trophy room again?”

“Probably.”

“Then _no_ , Buffy.” Buffy pouts at her, but Jenny stands firm. “There’s only so many times I can let you guys do that before it starts seeming unprofessional, and yesterday was the seventh time.”

“I’ll take care of the demon—sorry, the Stevenson Park _problem_ —“ Buffy shoots a thoroughly unsubtle look at Rupert. “—if you say yes.”

“You’ll take care of that anyway,” Jenny says, shaking her head. “If you don’t, Tara will try by herself, and then Willow will get mad at you for letting her.” Buffy huffs.

“ _Fine_ ,” she says. “But _I’m_ mad at _you_.”

“Yeah, yeah, get out of my office,” Jenny says, waving a hand dismissively. Buffy leaves, and Jenny turns back to Rupert, who is staring at her with an utterly perplexed and slightly irritated look on his face. “So, you can’t cut my department,” she says. “Can I help you with anything else?”

“This—this—“ he waves the copy of the Sunnydale Charter in the air. “This has to be a joke, right? This isn’t what the actual charter says.”

“Original copy’s on the third floor if you want to go see it,” Jenny says.

“I’ll make sure to do that.” Rupert sounds like he intends to actually do so, and Jenny mentally wishes him luck. The ghouls who run the historical archives are not friendly.

(That isn’t an insult. The archivists are actually ghouls, and they prefer human flesh that hasn’t been drinking Sunnydale water all its life, since the people of Sunnydale apparently start tasting a little demonic after a decade or two.)

“Look, Ms. Calendar, please be reasonable,” Rupert says, leaning forward in his chair. “Your department uses up nearly _twenty-five percent_ of Sunnydale’s annual budget, which is just—it’s _unheard of_. I’ve been to nearly thirty small towns like this one, and balanced all of their budgets, and I have never seen a _Parks and Recreation_ department use this kind of money. What do you even _do_ with it all?”

“My employees and I all do very important work,” Jenny says. There’s a sharp tap on the window of the office, and both of them turn to see Faith on the other side of the glass, glaring at Jenny.

She’s holding a piece of paper against the window that says, in large, sharpied letters, _U R A COCKBLOCKER_.

“Important work,” Rupert says, turning back to Jenny and adjusting his glasses. This time, Jenny finds the tic less charming and more smarmy. “Yes, I can see that.” Jenny sighs heavily.

“Look, Rupert,” she says, meeting his gaze. “I get that you’re just doing your job, and I wish I could help you with that. But you can’t cut Parks. Because the charter says so, and because _I_ say so. Like you said before, I know my job, and I know my department. We don’t waste a single dollar. Look somewhere else for your budget cuts.” Rupert holds her gaze for a long moment, and Jenny can’t help but feel like she’s being evaluated. Then Rupert stands, offering his hand across her desk once more.

“I’ll take my leave, then,” he says. “I have a third floor to visit. It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Calendar.” Jenny stands as well, shaking his hand, and can’t resist cracking a grin.

“Please,” she says, “call me Jenny. It’s only fair if I’m going to be calling you Rupert.”

“I’d much prefer you didn’t call me Rupert,” Rupert mutters.

“See you around, Rupert.” With a long-suffering sigh, Rupert leaves the room. Jenny allows herself to eye his retreating form through the window with a mixture of smugness and attraction before turning back to the work at hand: vine demons in Stevenson Park.

* * *

“This is all your fault,” Jenny says to Buffy as she peers around the corner at the gathered crowd in front of City Hall.

“Hey, don’t blame Buffy,” Faith says, coming to her girlfriend’s defense. “I was the one who brought the Molotov cocktails.”

“Yeah, but Buffy brought _you_ ,” Jenny says, glaring at her intern. “She knows better.” Faith just grins at her, toothy and wide.

“You lookin’ for an apology?” she says. “Because the fire was real pretty, and I don’t think I regret it.” Jenny glares at her, though there isn’t really any heat behind it. Faith had done much worse in high school, before Jenny had dragged her kicking and screaming into an internship with the Parks department. A little bit of victimless arson is harmless mischief in Sunnydale.

“No makeout breaks with Buffy for a week,” Jenny says. Faith’s grin drops.

“Hey, wait a minute—“

“Press conference time,” Jenny says, darting away before Faith can complain. She turns the corner and walks—as assertively as she can manage—out the door in front of the waiting crowd of reporters. She stops at the podium and fixes her gaze somewhere over everyone’s heads, trying to slip into _very official, very professional, definitely-an-adult Parks & Recreation Director_ mode.

“Right,” she says into the microphone on the podium. “As you all know, there was a fire-related incident at Stevenson Park late last night. I’m happy to inform you all that no one was hurt, and that the property damage, while thoroughly… _damaging_ , will be paid for out of the Parks department’s reparations fund. There should be a new forest, right where the old one was, in just a few weeks.” She pauses, mentally preparing herself for the next step. “Now, who’s got questions?” Instantly, dozens of hands go up, and people begin to shout at her. Jenny scans the crowd and points at a vaguely familiar, bespectacled face. “You.” The man stands a little straighter, adjusting his glasses excitedly.

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, _Sunnydale Gazette_ ,” he says, and Jenny barely stops herself from rolling her eyes. Of _course_ she recognized him. It’s the idiot who thinks he’s a— _how did he put it?_ —rogue demon hunter. “We’ve had reports that there was a sign outside the park indicating the presence of a raccoon infestation in the hours leading up to the fire,” Wesley says. “Was the fire in any way related to the—“ he coughs pointedly. “—efforts to, ah, _clean up_ the park?” Jenny leans into the mic, maintaining eye contact with Wesley, whose excited smile has slipped a bit.

“If you’re asking if the _entire park burning down_ was a sanctioned Parks department action,” she says, “I can tell you that it _definitely_ wasn’t. Furthermore, I’d like to officially discourage anyone from entering the park to look for, or hunt… _raccoons_.” She straightens up and smiles at Wesley, who swallows hard, his smile completely gone. “Is that clear, Mr. Pryce?”

“Um, yes,” Wesley says. “No hunting in the park. Quite clear.” Jenny nods, satisfied, and looks around the crowd for another familiar face. She may be generally irritated by the reporters she knows in Sunnydale, but she’s a whole lot more irritated by the ones she _doesn’t_ know.

Jenny spots someone in the front row of the crowd, and barely stops herself from swearing into the microphone.

“You,” she says, pointing. “Talk.” Anya steps forward.

“Anya Jenkins,” she says. “I own the Magic Box, and my business will be severely affected by this fire! Those trees were the _perfect_ age and species for growing the very specific strain of deathcap mushrooms that my shop sells extremely high volumes of. I want to know who was responsible for the fire.” Jenny pinches the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t even know where to start,” she says. She means to mutter it to herself, but the microphone picks it up, and she hears a few titters from the crowd. “First of all, we don’t know that—actually, no, first of all, this is a _press_ conference, not a public forum. You own a magic shop. I don’t even know how you got in here. Second of all, we don’t know if _anybody_ was responsible. We have no reason to suspect arson at this time. Third, I _know_ you’re not admitting to foraging for mushrooms—to _sell_ at your _business_ —in a public park. Finally—can I say this off the record? Everyone put your microphones and cameras away? Right, that’s good—put that notebook away, Wesley, I see you…good. Okay.” She looks back at Anya. “Anya, _you_ broke up with _me_ so that you could date my coworker, and I am actively choosing not to be mad about it because you guys are happy, but that choice is not always _easy_ for me, so could you at least _try_ not to piss me off?”

“ _Fine_!” Anya huffs and turns around, pushing her way through the crowd to leave. Jenny scans the crowd, which has gone silent in favor of staring at her.

“No more questions today,” she announces. “Any other inquiries you have regarding the Stevenson Park incident can be directed to the Parks department intern, Faith Lehane. Peace.” She waves over her shoulder as she walks away, back into City Hall. Faith and Buffy are waiting where she left them, holding hands. Normally, Jenny would give herself a moment to internally squeal about the two of them _finally_ getting together, but she can’t quite manage it right now. She’s realizing that she _is_ actually kind of annoyed at Faith.

“How’d it go?” Buffy asks as Jenny approaches them.

“Could’ve been worse,” Jenny says, tone short and flinty. “I didn’t let them ask too many questions. Although Anya showed up, somehow, to bother me about her mushroom crop being burned.” Faith shifts uncomfortably next to Buffy, and Jenny turns to her, raising an eyebrow.

“Sorry, Jen,” Faith says to her shoes. “This is my fault.” The look on her face is so genuinely upset that all the irritation Jenny had worked up while standing in front of the crowd immediately dissipates.

“It’s fine, Faith,” she says. “Just—please don’t make my job harder than it has to be, okay?” Faith nods, still staring at the floor, and Jenny drops it. Faith will sulk for awhile before realizing that Jenny isn’t actually that angry with her, and things will get back to normal. They always do.

“Ms. Calendar,” a voice says from behind her. Jenny turns.

“Rupert!” she says, grinning at him. This is exactly what she needed to cheer herself up—to simultaneously flirt with and irritate this (notably attractive) jerk who’s trying to lay off _Jenny’s_ employees. “Good to see you again! How’d your field trip to the third floor go yesterday?”

“It was…odd,” Rupert says. “The archivists are quite spirited.”

“They’re something,” Jenny agrees. “I’m amazed you came back with all of your skin. Anyways, do you need something?”

“Right, yes.” Rupert stands up a little straighter. “I wanted to ask about your plan to fund the rebuilding of Stevenson Park, and also what exactly happened to it in the first place, while I’m at it.”

“Weren’t you watching the press conference?” Jenny asks. “There was an incident.”

“An incident in which the entire park was burnt to the ground?”

“Yep. As for rebuilding it, the Parks department has a…it’s kind of like a trust fund, but we have money to deal with this stuff.”

“Do parks regularly burn to the ground?” Rupert asks, which makes Faith snicker. “That would certainly explain your department’s inflated budget.” His presence is getting less attractive and more annoying by the minute.

“Yeah, well, do you wanna just stand there and mock me, or do you have something to say?” Jenny says. It lacks her usual sarcastic finesse, and comes out more angrily than she intends it. Rupert blinks, looking taken aback by her suddenly brusque attitude, but pushes on.

“I—not really,” he says. “I suppose it’s worth informing you that I don’t intend to give up. I’m making an appointment with the Mayor to discuss ways to minimize the Parks budget.” Jenny, Faith, and Buffy all laugh at that, to Rupert’s visible and utter confusion.

“You’re gonna go talk to the Mayor, huh?” Faith asks. Rupert frowns at her.

“Is that funny?”

“Well, yeah. The Mayor is—“ Buffy elbows Faith in the side. “Well, he’s…” Faith pauses. “Have you ever seen _Weekend at Bernie’s_?” Rupert stares at her.

“I’m sorry, are you suggesting that the Mayor is _dead_?” he asks.

“Nope.” Faith grins. “I’m just askin’ if you’ve ever seen _Weekend at Bernie’s_.” Jenny reaches out and shoves Faith’s shoulder lightly.

“Stop messing with him,” she says. “Let me handle this.” Faith sighs dramatically.

“You’re always stealing the fun, Jen,” she says.

“Yeah, well, it _is_ my job.” Jenny isn’t just talking about being Faith’s boss. She’s been trying to push Faith down the right path for almost a decade now, and judging by Faith’s small, grateful smile, she’s picked up on Jenny’s meaning with the present tense. Jenny has never liked communicating in hidden truths, though, so she adds on, “I’m not really that mad.”

“I know,” Faith says. “I just…well, you know how it is.” Jenny does. No matter how many times she tells Faith she won’t abandon her, Faith can never quite believe her.

Jenny tells her all the time anyway.

“I know,” Jenny says. “Besides, I’m sending all the reporters your way if they have questions. That’s plenty of revenge for me.”

“You’re doing _what_?” Faith asks.

“Shoo, guys!” Jenny waves her hands at Buffy and Faith. “Faith, I’ll see you in the office. Buffy—you’ll probably be in the office too, huh?” Buffy nods, grinning. “I don’t know what the police department pays you for. Get out of here.”

“Nice to see you again, Giles,” Buffy says, waving at him as Faith uses their joined hands to tug her away. Rupert watches them go with a perplexed look on his face before he turns back to Jenny.

“Look, Rupert,” she says, changing the topic back to their original discussion. “The last time someone got an audience with the Mayor was in 2011. And even if you could talk to him, he wouldn’t be able to help you. He can’t break the charter. No one can.” Rupert looks at her for a long moment, an appraising look in his eye.

“Would you like to have lunch with me?” he asks. _That_ catches Jenny off guard.

“Would I what?” Rupert half-smiles, looking down at his shoes.

“I…realize that I have been quite confrontational with you,” he says. “I’d like to change that, and discuss our business in a more friendly capacity. I’m not actually a jerk all of the time.”

“Only professionally?” Jenny asks, raising an eyebrow. Rupert smiles at the jab, which—Jenny isn’t sure if she likes that or not. She had been joking, sure, but she’s _intimidating_ , damn it, and he clearly is not intimidated. This is a very good development for the side of Jenny that thinks Rupert is adorable, and a very bad one for the side of her that wants him to fuck off and stop trying to mess with _her_ Parks department. She opens her mouth, intending to explain to him in no uncertain terms that he will _never_ defund her department or its employees, and that she will not entertain his interest in being— _friendly_ , whatever that means, and instead she says, “There’s a good taco truck in the square down the street. You’re buying.”

* * *

“So, tell me more about your employees,” Rupert says. Jenny pauses with her chip halfway to the salsa cup sitting in the middle of the picnic table to stare at him suspiciously. “Oh, come on,” he says. “I’m not asking so I can figure out who to fire. I’m curious. You seemed quite close with that Faith girl.” Despite her suspicion, Jenny can’t help but smile a bit.

“Yeah,” she says. “Faith is…she’s been interning with the Parks department since she was in high school.” Rupert frowns.

“How old is she now?” he asks.

“Twenty-four.” Rupert blinks at her, obviously confused, and Jenny tries to figure out a good way to explain this without opening the _Parks department “interns” are actually just Sunnydale’s armed defense against the ever-encroaching demonic forces of the universe_ can of worms.

“Don’t worry, we pay her now,” is the only thing she can think to say.

“Ah,” Rupert says, still confused. “I suppose that’s good.”

“Yeah.” Jenny pauses, wondering how much she should tell Rupert. He’s an asshole who’s trying to ruin her department and fire her employees, but he’s also cute, and funny in a British kind of way, and he had been exceedingly kind to the guy working the taco truck, which is always a good sign.

“Faith had a rough time in high school,” Jenny says, taking the leap. “Buffy and her friends weren’t always the best to her, and Faith sort of…drifted down the wrong path for awhile. But then she got the internship, and I guess I kind of saw myself in her, a little bit, and annoyed her into getting it together.”

“She seems…quite competent,” Rupert says. “If a little…” He trails off, flushing slightly, and Jenny smiles.

“Yeah, professionalism has never been her strong suit,” she says. “I’m happy to let her and Buffy goof off, though. It took them long enough to get where they are. Like I said, they’ve known each other since high school.” While Rupert is distracted by listening to her, Jenny sneaks the salsa away from the center of the table and pours it over her taco. “Most of the current Parks department has, actually,” she continues. “Buffy, Xander, and Willow have been pretty much inseparable forever, and Buffy and Faith have been pretending not to be in love for like six years. Their other friend Oz works for the park rangers, and so does Tara, Willow’s girlfriend—although they didn’t actually meet until college. Small town, I guess; everyone’s known everyone forever.”

“It’s—a bit of a family, I would think,” Rupert says, “if you’ve all been friends for so long.” Jenny blinks at him, surprised.

“I don’t know if I’m _friends_ with them,” she says, “so much as they’re, like, my really irritating baby cousins. But…yeah, it’s a family.” Rupert nods, smiling at her in a way that puts Jenny off balance. He’s…really, _really_ cute when he’s not trying to fire her kids.

“I can see why you dislike me so much, then,” he says.

“It’s not that I don’t _like_ you,” Jenny says, wondering why she feels the need to reassure him. “It’s just…”

“I’m a threat to your family,” Rupert says. “It’s alright. I understand.” Jenny looks down at her taco, suddenly feeling a bit guilty. She’s been pretty mean to him, after all—even if he totally deserved it for threatening to cut her department—and here he is being all _understanding_ and _kind_.

“Look, Jenny,” Rupert says, his tone changing. Jenny looks back up at him, taken off guard by his use of her first name. He’s been calling her _Ms. Calendar_ without fail, which Jenny admittedly found cute, but she likes this better. She likes the way he’s looking at her with familiarity.

Jenny decides that now is _not_ the time to unpack that.

“I’m not an idiot,” Rupert is saying. “I can tell that there is— _something_ odd going on in this town, and that your department is mixed up in all of it. If you could just explain to me what’s happening, and why your department needs so much money, I can look elsewhere for budget cuts.”

“I can’t,” Jenny says quietly. Rupert’s eyes flash with disappointment.

“I see,” he says. His voice isn’t cold, but that gentle, familiar tone has vanished. Jenny grits her teeth in frustration.

“No, Rupert, I—“ She huffs. “I literally _can’t_. Just—one sec.” She grabs her purse from the bench beside her and rifles through it, looking for the packet of papers she’s pretty sure is in there somewhere. She finds it quickly and sets it on the table between them. “Read Article One, Section One.” Rupert looks down at the papers with a frown.

“Do you bring a copy of the city charter with you everywhere?” he asks.

“Just _read_ it.” Rupert adjusts his glasses and leans forward.

“No city employee, contractor, elected official, or citizen where applicable, under pain of expulsion, shall inform any outsider of any aspect of the information contained within the non-public founding documents of Sunnydale.” He looks up at Jenny. “I don’t understand.”

“I can’t tell you anything,” she says, taking back her papers. “It’s against the rules. But if you were to, say, show up at Stevenson Park at midnight tonight, and just happened to see me going into the park, and decided to go say hi and saw me doing something weird, that might change.”

“What?” Rupert say, blinking at her.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Rupert,” Jenny says. “Just go to Stevenson Park at midnight, and I’ll _show_ you what’s going on in this town.”

* * *

The trip to Stevenson Park becomes a full-blown expedition by the time Jenny’s workday ends. She intends to just take Faith, find what’s left of the vine demons, and rip them out, but then Faith tells Buffy what’s going on and Buffy insists on tagging along. Then Buffy tells Willow, and Willow decides that she and Tara should go, too, just in case.

Xander, bless him, decides to not get involved.

Jenny’s tiny Subaru is absolutely _packed_ by the time she picks up all of her allies and begins the drive to Stevenson Park. Faith, as the only other person who’s actually _supposed_ to be there, gets shotgun, and Willow, Tara, and Buffy cram themselves into the backseat.

Jenny parks her car in the parking lot by the burned-down woods and loudly orders everyone out, poking Faith in the arm to shoo her. She notices another car—a very old, sad-looking car—parked down at the end of the lot, and she hopes Rupert followed her instructions.

“Alright,” Jenny says after she locks the car doors. “Everyone ready? Armed?”

“Everyone’s got a machete and holy water, I’ve got the extra firepower,” Faith says, opening her duffel bag and pulling out a smallish flamethrower. Jenny gives her a _look_ , but Faith just grins. “It’s not like there’s anything left to burn down except demon,” she says, strapping the thing to her back.

“That’s…an annoyingly good point,” Jenny says. “Whatever. Let’s go, guys. Remember, rip the vines out by their roots and wet the earth with holy water so they can’t grow back. There’ll be a central root somewhere in the forest. Let me and Faith handle that. Everyone good to go?” There’s nods all around, and Jenny unsheathes her machete. “Let’s go, then,” she says, and as a group, they set off into the woods. She still doesn’t see Rupert anywhere, which is a little concerning. He could be watching from a distance, but he’s an _accountant_ , not a spy, and Jenny is a sort-of-trained demon hunter. She should be able to spot him.

She shakes it off as they head into the woods. The moon is high and full tonight—which is why Oz isn’t with them—and Jenny’s eyes adjust quickly, picking out most of the details of the burnt woods around her, if not the colors. Not that there would be much color to see, anyway; Faith did a thorough job the night before. Most of the tree trunks are still standing, but they’re blackened and cracked, covered in soot.

They’ve been walking through the woods for nearly five minutes when Faith stops walking beside Jenny and says, “This isn’t right.” Everyone pauses, turning to look at her. Jenny may be nominally in charge, but Faith is the one who really knows what she’s doing out here. The rest of them, other than Buffy, are researchers and planners, not warriors.

“The vines should’ve attacked by now,” Buffy says, nodding in agreement with her girlfriend. “This feels like a trap.”

“Vine demons aren’t smart enough to try to trick us,” Tara says, frowning. “They’re like Venus flytraps. They hunt by lying in wait for their prey, but we’re well into its territory now. There’s no reason for it not to attack us.”

“Well, it hasn’t,” Faith points out. She looks around the dark woods, shoulders tense. “I don’t like this. Something’s up.”

“But if it’s not a trap, what is it?” Buffy asks, and the dots connect in Jenny’s head.

“Vine demons only retreat from their territory for one reason,” she says. “They centralize around their main root when they’re feeding.” She grits her teeth. “Fucking shit. _Rupert_.”

“Rupert?” Faith says, frowning at Jenny. “Giles? What does he have to do with anything?”

“I sent him here,” Jenny says. “ _Fuck_. I told him to come here at midnight, so I could show him what this town is like, so he would stop trying to cut my budget. But his car was already in the parking lot when we arrived, and I haven’t seen him anywhere, so…”

“The vines must’ve gotten him,” Buffy says. Jenny closes her eyes for a moment, trying to settle her racing heart. _This_ is why she was only an intern for a few weeks before she switched over to administration. Interns go out in the field, and in the field, people die.

“What are his chances?” Jenny asks, opening her eyes and looking at her friends. They all stare at her blankly. “Guys, just tell me,” she says, her voice getting higher. “I can’t remember what happens, alright? I can’t remember right now.”

“The demon would take him to its central root,” Tara says, her voice shaking slightly. “It would—it would try to dismember him. It digests things better one piece at a time.”

“Well, we better get there before it starts making pieces,” Faith says. She’s the only one of them who sounds calm, and Jenny is reminded that Faith is actually really, really good at her job. There’s a reason she’s their longest-living intern in the past fifty years.

“Right,” Jenny says, latching onto Faith’s calm tone and reassuring herself with it. They’re going to find Rupert, he’s going to be okay, and then Jenny can sort out why she cares so much about a guy she met a day and a half ago. “Right. To the center of the park, I guess.”

They split up as they approach the place Tara thinks the central root is. It makes sense; vine demons are stupid, and if it gets attacked from three different directions, it won’t know what to do. Jenny hates it. Faith is going off on her own while Willow and Jenny go one way and Tara and Buffy go the other, all of which means that Jenny can’t protect any of her kids—even if most of them are better fighters than she is.

“We’ve got this, Ms. Calendar,” Willow whispers to Jenny as they circle one side of the clearing Tara had led them to. “We’re gonna rescue your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Jenny hisses back, noticing Willow’s teasing grin a moment too late. “I can’t believe _you’re_ giving _me_ shit right now. I’m supposed to be the _adult_!” Willow giggles quietly, but immediately muffles it as they reach a break in the skeletal, dead trees and see into the clearing.

“Oh, no,” Willow whispers, and Jenny’s heart lurches painfully.

The central root is grotesque. It’s around ten feet tall and four feet in diameter, a thick pillar of dark green plant material. Veins—like those in leaves, only magnified several thousand times—are visible beneath its slowly pulsating surface. Towards the bottom of the trunk, a membraneous section, about three feet wide and two feet high, glows bright green, partially illuminating the clearing.

In front of the root lie three bodies. A half-burnt deer carcass, a whimpering German shepherd, and Rupert. Both the dog and Rupert are held in place by the vine demon’s other limbs, a network of green ropes pinning them to the ground. The dog has given up, pressing its chin to the ground and whining quietly. Rupert, though, is struggling uselessly against his bonds, his glasses askew.

As they watch, a few vines wrap around the base of the deer’s neck. With a wet crunching sound, they rip the deer’s head off, lifting it away from the rest of the carcass. The vines carry the head forward, towards the central root, and press it against the glowing membrane. It sinks through, into the root, and the membrane restores its flat surface almost immediately. It’s a bit like watching something sink into a vat of jello.

“ _Gross_ ,” Jenny mutters.

“Very bad,” Willow whispers back. “What’s the plan?” Jenny hesitates for a moment. She looks across the clearing to where she knows Faith is. Their actual plan had pretty much stopped at this moment: split up, find the root, circle it, attack. The details of the _attack_ portion had not been thought out, and Faith would be far better at coming up with them than Jenny.

Then the roots that had ripped off the deer’s head begin to move towards the dog, and Jenny decides that she is _not_ watching that happen tonight.

“Hey, fucker,” she says, stepping into the clearing. “Eat shit.” She draws the squirt gun from her belt and shoots a thin stream of holy water straight into the demon’s membraneous mouth. Immediately, the vines headed for the dog redirect, shooting with incredible speed across the clearing towards Jenny.

“That isn’t a _plan_!” Willow shouts from behind her, but follows Jenny into the clearing anyway. Jenny raises her machete, lashing out at the approaching vines. She doesn’t do much damage, but they dance away from her, dripping glowing green sap. Across the clearing, Buffy charges in, machete raised. Tara trails behind her, her own weapon raised defensively, less certain than Buffy.

Jenny takes advantage of the growing chaos, and the vine demon’s momentary retreat, to dive for the still-living bodies on the ground. She goes for the dog first. It’s closer, and if she’s remembering her demonology correctly, vine demons prefer human flesh, and will likely let other prey go easily. Sure enough, the moment Jenny slashes a few of the vines away from the dog, the rest of them retreat. The dog leaps to its feet and bolts off into the woods, barking wildly. Jenny steps forwards, towards Rupert.

“Nice of you to show up,” he says, trying once again to pull himself free of the vines and failing utterly. “What, pray tell, the absolute _fuck_ is going on?”

“Still can’t tell you,” Jenny says, clenching her jaw as she begins to cut Rupert free. “Also, shut up.” The vines don’t want to let him go. The more Jenny hacks apart, the more rise from the earth around them, wrapping even tighter around Rupert’s limbs.

“This doesn’t seem to be working,” Rupert points out.

“Shut _up_ , or I’ll let the creepy vine monster rip your arms off,” Jenny says. He’s right, though. The vines are just growing thicker and stronger. The demon doesn’t want to let go of its prey. A quick glance around the clearing informs Jenny that her allies are fighting off their own swarms of vines, although they’re having more success than Jenny. The demon seems to be focusing its energy on holding onto the prey it’s already caught. How lucky for Jenny.

“ _Ow_ ,” Rupert says loudly. “I think the plant being may have just dislocated my shoulder.” Jenny looks down, and sure enough, the vines are beginning to pull Rupert’s limbs in every direction, preparing to rip him apart. His shoulder doesn’t look _dislocated_ , though, just a little bit…stretched.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Jenny yells at the root in the middle of the clearing—uselessly, of course. Vine demons are still plants, if plants from hell. They can’t hear. She grabs the nearest vine, using all of her strength to peel it from around Rupert’s ankle, and brings her machete down beside her hand, severing its tip. The vine jerks in her grip, trying to spasm away for her, but Jenny holds on. She drops her machete to the ground and once again goes for her squirt gun. She presses the muzzle up against the center of the vine, where it’s oozing green sap, and shoots holy water directly into its veins.

“Is that a _water gun_?” Rupert asks from the ground, just before the vine demon feels the pain. The central root spasms once, twice, its bulky form twisting and jerking in the darkness, and all of its limbs fly inwards, curling around the root protectively. Jenny grabs Rupert’s uninjured arm and yanks him to his feet.

“Holy water,” she says. “Less effective against this guy than it is against vampi—other things, but still hurts like a bitch.” She points her gun at the central root and squirts out the last of her holy water into its mouth, mostly out of spite.

It’s a mistake.

The vines shoot out once more, slamming into Jenny’s chest like a truck. She goes flying backwards, straight into yet more vines, which curl around to catch her. They wrap around her limbs and instantly begin to _pull_. Jenny is lifted off her feet, gun falling to the ground uselessly beside her discarded machete. She has just enough time to process that the vines are pulling her towards the demon’s mouth, that it intends to swallow her whole, before another force slams into her side, ripping her free of some of the vines. She blinks, and the remainder of the vines holding onto her are severed, falling to the ground and twitching loosely. Jenny stumbles backwards and falls to the ground beside them, scraping her palms against the dirt as she lands.

“Don’t fucking _touch_ her,” Faith says from in front of Jenny, her machete covered in green sap. Faith takes two long strides forward, stopping directly in front of the root. The vines begin to recover from Faith’s assault and curl towards her back, but it’s too late. Faith punches forward with both fists, hard enough that her hands sink into the root up to her wrists. With a shout, Faith _lifts_.

She rips the root out of the earth. It slips off of her hands with a wet sucking noise, and falls to the ground limply. Dead.

Buffy appears at Faith’s side almost immediately, reaching for her hands and then adjusting course when she notices the thick layer of slime still coating Faith’s fingers, glowing in the dark. Jenny slowly pushes herself to her feet, squinting at the superficial wounds on her palms and wincing slightly. Typing is going to hurt for the next few days.

“Not that I’m not grateful for the rescue,” Rupert says, stepping over to where Jenny is standing. “But I still would _really like_ an explanation.” Jenny takes a few deep breaths, trying to clear the fog of adrenaline and panic floating in her skull. She glances around the clearing, taking stock of her surroundings now that she’s a little more present. Buffy and Faith are standing next to each other, murmuring quietly to one another as Buffy cleans the demon slime off of Faith’s hands. On the other side of the clearing, Willow and Tara are regrouping, both significantly more unscathed than the rest of them. Next to Buffy and Faith, the corpse of the root has melted into a pile of green slime, no longer animated by demonic energy. The severed vines, though, are holding their shape. A few of them are still wriggling across the ground. They’ll die soon, but they aren’t dead yet.

“Jenny?” Rupert says.

“Hold that thought,” Jenny says. She retrieves her machete and her empty water gun from the ground, reattaching the gun to her belt and holding out the machete to Rupert. “Take this,” she says. “Kill that.” She points to one of the vines, which is trying to inchworm itself out of the clearing.

“I…what?” Rupert says.

“Just _go_ with it,” Jenny says. “Kill the vine worm, Rupert.” Rupert gives her one last doubtful look before he takes the machete and kind of pokes the vine with it, leaving a small wound on its side. “I said _kill_ , not tickle,” Jenny says, rolling her eyes. With great reluctance, Rupert pokes a little bit harder and severs the vine in two.

“What was the point of that?” he asks, looking back up at Jenny.

“You, Rupert Giles, just made your first field kill,” she says. She slaps him on the shoulder. “As director of the Parks Department, I name you an honorary Parks intern.”

“…okay,” Rupert says. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means that legally, you are no longer an outsider,” Jenny says. “Which means I can tell you _all about_ all the weird shit happening in this town.” She takes her machete back and slips her free hand through his arm, noting with some sadness that this particular tweed jacket is probably ruined. Not that it matters, of course; Jenny will probably never see him again, after he finishes balancing the Sunnydale budget.

“C’mon, kids,” Jenny says loudly, rather than focusing on the tightness in her chest at the thought of never seeing Rupert again. “Back to the cars, before that vine goo starts smelling bad.”

* * *

Jenny ends up in Rupert’s car. He still wants his explanation, and his arms are covered in small puncture wounds from where the vines holding him down had sprouted spikes. Jenny knows a lot more about demon-related first aid than him, so she’s the best available option to patch him up. The kids take Jenny’s car, and Faith makes several suggestive hand gestures towards Rupert and Jenny before they drive away. Jenny just glares at her ineffectually in response.

Rupert drives them both back to his motel. The car ride is silent—not quite tense, but not comfortable, either. Jenny doesn’t really know where to _start_ explaining Sunnydale to someone who knows nothing about it, and Rupert hasn’t asked a question yet, so she lets the silence stretch, focusing instead on the slightly concerning noises the car engine is making. The car is positively ancient, honestly. It gets them to the motel, though, and Jenny only realizes just how sore she is from the fight when she pulls herself out of the car and stands.

“ _Fuck_ , I’m getting old,” she groans, stretching and wincing when her back twinges. Rupert shoots her an amused look as he opens the door of his room. “Seriously, I never used to hurt this much when I killed things.”

“Do you murder giant plant monsters on a regular basis?” Rupert asks, holding the door open for Jenny.

“Not really.” Jenny steps inside, glancing around the motel room. It’s small, but clean and well-lit—and, surprisingly, a double. “The murdering is technically just Faith’s job, but we’re all pretty shit at following rules.”

“You realize you’re going to have to explain every part of that sentence, right?” Rupert says, closing the door. “Nothing has made sense to me since I walked into your office.”

“Yeah, no, I get that,” Jenny says, nodding. “But maybe we can deal with you bleeding everywhere first?” Rupert looks down at the bloodstained holes in his sleeves and nods sheepishly.

“Let’s,” he says. While he shucks off his jacket, Jenny digs through the duffel bag she had pulled from her car, looking for the first aid kit she brings with her on all the demon-fighting expeditions she tags along for. By the time she finds it and turns back to Rupert, he’s divested himself of his jacket, and is struggling to roll up his sleeves past his wounds.

“Just take the shirt off, Rupert,” Jenny says, rolling her eyes. He flushes bright pink and abandons his sleeves in favor of adjusting his glasses nervously.

“I—I don’t—“ Jenny steps up to him, tucks the first aid kit under one arm, and undos the top button of his shirt. Rupert sucks in a sharp, shaky breath, and Jenny pauses. She glances up at him, silently asking if her actions are okay. Rupert doesn’t protest. Instead, he nods slowly, and Jenny returns to his shirt buttons. She undoes them quickly, almost mechanically, trying to make the moment less intense than it feels.

She’s very, very close to Rupert. He’s looking at her, unblinking, over his glasses, and she can feel the warmth of his body through his shirt. It hasn’t even been that long since Jenny was this close to someone—she and Anya only ended their… _whatever_ it was a few months ago—but the proximity affects her all the same. By the time she’s untucked Rupert’s shirt and slid it down his arms, her breaths are coming shakily and quick.

Beneath the ruined button down, Rupert is wearing a white t-shirt that has somehow escaped the dirt and blood the rest of his clothes are covered in. Without thinking, Jenny reaches out, setting the palm of her hand on his chest—right over his heart.

“Jenny,” Rupert says very quietly. Jenny blinks, feels her stomach flip over, and turns the hesitant contact into motion, using her hand, pressed against his chest, to push Rupert backwards towards the bed.

“Sit,” she says, giving him a final shove and creating a few feet of space between them, enough that she feels like she can breathe again. Rupert sits on the edge of the bed, and Jenny grabs the desk chair from the small desk tucked against the window. She pulls it up so she’s sitting in front of Rupert and unzips her first aid kit, digging through it for disinfectants and bandages.

“So,” Rupert says as Jenny grabs his left arm and pulls it towards her so that she can reach his wounds, “what exactly was that… _thing_ in the woods?”

“Vine demon,” Jenny says, dabbing at the wound nearest to Rupert’s wrist with a wad of gauze. “They’re native to South America, I’m not sure how this one got here. Some asshole probably transplanted it.”

“Demon,” Rupert repeats.

“Uh-huh.” Jenny slaps a bandage over the wound and moves on to the next one. “Might be helpful if I start at the beginning.”

“Yes, please,” Rupert says, sounding a little faint.

“Right.” Jenny focuses on her work for a moment, cleaning and bandaging the last of the cuts on this arm so she can move on to the other. “So, Sunnydale was founded in the 1870s by a bunch of idiots who thought that building a town on the mouth of hell itself was a good idea. I’m pretty sure we singlehandedly brought down the national life expectancy for decades.”

“The mouth of hell,” Rupert echoes. “You live…on top of hell?”

“Well, not hell in like, the Christian sense,” Jenny says. She pauses for a moment, trying to figure out a good way to explain it all. “The Hellmouth is like—I mean, there is a literal pit with a giant tentacle monster in it that we call the Hellmouth, but it’s also just a place where the barriers between this dimension and the demon dimensions are thinnest. Magic is stronger here, demonic energy permeates everything, all kinds of creepy-crawlies are drawn to its presence.”

“Right,” Rupert says, looking vaguely nauseated. “Demon dimensions. Of course.”

“I’m not doing a very good job explaining this, huh?” Jenny asks.

“You may have wanted to start with the _demons existing_ bit.” Jenny considers that.

“Fair enough,” she says. “Demons exist.”

“Thank you.” Rupert offers her his other arm, and Jenny grabs a fresh piece of gauze.

“Demons, vampires, magic, spirits, werewolves, pretty much anything you think isn’t supposed to exist, it does,” Jenny says as she cleans his remaining wounds. “And they all come here, to the Hellmouth, and we deal with them.”

“ _We_ being you, your intern, and her girlfriend,” Rupert says.

“ _We_ being the Sunnydale Parks Department,” Jenny corrects. “It’s why we exist, why we’re at the start of the charter, why we need so much money. It’s a front. We protect Sunnydale, and kinda the rest of the world, too, while we’re at it, from the _encroaching forces of evil and chaos_ that you read about in the charter. _That’s_ why you can’t cut our budget.”

“I’m…not really thinking about the budget right now, Jenny,” Rupert says. “I’m a bit more concerned with the _monsters are real_ aspect of it all.”

“…right,” Jenny says, settling back into the chair and zipping the first aid kit back up. “That…makes sense.”

“I just—what are you saying?” Rupert says. “You’re saying that there’s—there’s other dimensions and an entire _world’s_ worth of evil, man-eating flora and fauna out there that nobody even _knows_ about?”

“Well, not _nobody_ ,” Jenny says. “Just—mostly nobody. There’s witch covens all over the world, and plenty of families that have a connection to the supernatural. I grew up in it.”

“But _science_ doesn’t know about it,” Rupert says. He’s speaking more quickly now, his tone excited. “Governments don’t.”

“Some parts of some governments do,” Jenny says. “That’s why Sunnydale wasn’t formally acknowledged by the state of California until 1946. Pretty much everyone here knows at least a little bit about the truth of what’s going on, and the state government couldn’t exactly incorporate a town where the government had a demon-fighting division. The locals and the state officials argued over it for decades, until the town finally agreed to keep everything under wraps and the state decided to discourage people from moving here to make the whole façade easier. It’s sort of everyone here’s unofficial job: keep this all a secret from the rest of the world.”

“Your town charter mentions a council of vanquished gods,” Rupert points out.

“Yeah, well, we aren’t great at our jobs,” Jenny says. “I mean, I am, and my employees are, but we’re an anomaly.”

“I think I’m going to need to lie down soon,” Rupert says. Jenny sneaks her phone out of her pocket and shoots a text off to Faith with the address of the motel and a request to be picked up. She’s waiting for a response when she realizes that Rupert is talking to her.

“What?” she asks, feeling slightly embarrassed even though there isn’t any reason she _shouldn't_ be on her phone.

“Would you like some tea?” Rupert asks again.

“Tea?” Jenny says, raising an eyebrow. “Really leaning into some stereotypes there, huh?” Rupert just gives her a _look_ , and Jenny smiles. “Yeah, sure, tea,” she says. “Sounds good.” Rupert smiles at her before getting up to make it.

They drink their tea in the same silence that filled the car earlier, though it’s significantly more tense now. Jenny imagines that’s her fault, what with the undressing Rupert and touching his chest and all. They both keep their eyes fixed on their little, styrofoam hotel cups. Jenny imagines Rupert is processing the knowledge that the world he has known his entire life is incomplete, and she’s processing the fact that she kind-of-really likes him.

“Jenny?” Rupert says, when both their cups of tea are nearly empty. She blinks at him, confused by the almost _tender_ note in his voice. “Would you like to stay the night? It’s quite late, and I have a spare bed.” Jenny’s heart sinks.

“I—“ A loud, familiar car horn sounds outside. “I texted Faith,” Jenny finishes. “So that I could get my car back and get home.”

“Right,” Rupert says. “Of course.” Jenny picks up her first aid kit and gets to her feet, disappointment tingling through her limbs.

“But—we could talk tomorrow, if you want,” Jenny says. “I’m guessing you still have a lot of questions. We could get coffee or something.”

“We should,” Rupert agrees. “Two o’clock, maybe? I don’t think I’ll want to get up early enough for a morning meeting.” He calls it a meeting, instead of a date, which is perfectly reasonable, since they’re two business enemies meeting to discuss the gaping mouth of hell beneath them. Jenny is still disappointed by it.

“Two works,” she says aloud.

“Excellent.” Rupert opens the motel room door for her. “I’ll come by your office then. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jenny.” Jenny lingers for a moment in the doorway, looking over at Rupert. She wonders if he’ll actually show up tomorrow, or if he’ll do the smart thing: run like hell from this town and try to forget everything he saw here.

“Tomorrow,” she echoes him, and steps outside. Faith is leaning against the hood of Jenny’s car, grinning at her as she approaches.

“That looked interesting,” Faith says, straightening up.

“Shut up.” Jenny holds out a hand for the car keys. Faith cackles as she hands them over, heading over to the passenger side of the car as Jenny settles into the driver’s seat.

“I’m not mocking you, Jen,” Faith says. “He’s cute. In an old, British, dad kind of way.” Jenny groans quietly, but neglects answering in favor of focusing on turning out onto the main road. “I mean it,” Faith says, actually sounding it this time. Jenny glances over at her. Faith’s grin has dropped, replaced by a look of sincerity. “I know you and Anya were never serious, but I know you wanted to be. And I’m thinkin’ that was less about Anya and more about wanting someone in your life who isn’t fifteen years younger than you and an idiot.”

“At least you’re self-aware,” Jenny says, latching onto the last statement rather than Faith’s actual (legitimate) point. She flicks on her turn signal as they approach Faith’s street.

“Actually, could you drop me at Buffy’s?” Faith says quickly. Jenny turns the blinker back off, glancing over at Faith with raised eyebrows.

“You really are _going steady_ ,” she says. Faith groans.

“She told you about that?” she asks. “I _panicked_ , alright?” Jenny laughs. “And, yeah, I wanna sleep over,” Faith says, growing serious once more. “Buffy was a little freaked by me stickin’ my hands in the demon earlier. She wants to take care of me.” Faith says it like she’s annoyed by Buffy’s protectiveness, but the slight smile on her face tells the truth.

“Good,” Jenny says, turning onto the road that will eventually take her to the house Buffy shares with her sister. “You could use another person worrying about you.”

“So could you,” Faith says. “I was being serious. If you wanna date the accountant, I think you should.” Jenny stays quiet for awhile, watching the streetlights pass by.

“It doesn’t really matter what I want,” she says eventually. “He’ll balance the budget, then he’ll be gone.”

“Yeah.” Faith doesn’t seem to have an answer to that one, and they drive the rest of the way to Buffy’s house in comfortable silence. Faith clambers out of the car, taking her duffel bag full of weapons with her.

“Tell Buffy I say hi,” Jenny says before Faith closes the car door. “And thank her for me, for looking after you.” Faith offers her a half-smile rather than an answer and slams the car door behind her. Jenny watches her disappear into the house before she backs out of the driveway and heads up the street, back across town to her own apartment so she can finally wash the dirt and twigs out of her hair.

* * *

“So, let me make sure I understand this correctly,” Rupert says, fiddling with his coffee cup. “The charter is a—a _magically binding_ document, and now that I’m an honorary member of the Parks department, I’m not allowed to tell _anyone_ who isn’t from Sunnydale about demons or monsters or any of it, and if I do, the magic that enforces the charter will kill me?”

“Well, it won’t _kill_ you kill you,” Jenny says. “It just expels your soul from your body and sends it to the closest available hell dimension. Your body stays alive in a coma, sometimes for years.”

“Right, of course,” Rupert says, nodding. “Quite different from killing me.” It sounds like a joke, but Rupert’s tone is not entertained. Jenny looks down at her own coffee, suddenly feeling a bit guilty.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she says. “I know it’s…a big secret to keep. But you wanted to know the truth.” She shrugs. “Besides, as long as you’re here, you can ask me anything you want about demons, magic, whatever.” She sips her coffee, trying to appear as casual as possible. “How long are you around for, anyway?”

“I’m not sure,” Rupert says. “Since I can no longer cut the city government’s most obvious frivolous expenditure, I’ll have to look elsewhere to balance the budget. It may take a month or two. Sunnydale’s budget deficit is—“ He shudders slightly, shaking his head. “At any rate, while I’m here, I think I’ll take you up on that offer. I’d like to learn as much as I can about all of this—this demon insanity.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I can,” Jenny says. “I’m not big on the research angle, though. That’s mostly Willow’s job. I can give you a reading list if you feel like braving the archive ghouls again.” Rupert frowns.

“When you say _ghouls_ ,” he says, “you are speaking figuratively. Right?” Jenny just grins at him. Rupert takes off his glasses and cleans them on his shirt, frown deepening.

“And after the budget is fixed?” Jenny asks. “Are you gonna head off to the next broke town, forget all about demons and vampires and alternate dimensions?” Rupert hesitates.

“I—I don’t know that I’ll be able to,” he says. “Forget, I mean. You must understand, Jenny, I became an accountant because I was _bored_. I have three PhDs in various historical fields. I left academia because I ran out of things I was interested in. I thought I had learned everything there is to know, or at least enough of it that nothing could surprise me anymore.”

“But the vine demon trying to eat you sure surprised you, huh?” Jenny says.

“Indeed,” Rupert says dryly. “My point is, I don’t think I’ll be able to just… _move on_ from any of this. There’s an entire world, inside of the one I’ve known, that’s been missing from everything I’ve ever learned in my life. I want to learn about it.”

“Huh,” Jenny says, her heart jumping quietly in her chest. “So, I guess maybe you’ll want to stick around.”

“I think I might,” Rupert says. “Could that internship you gave me be _not_ honorary, and perhaps paid?”

“Well, I wouldn’t make you an intern,” Jenny says. “Interns are our field soldiers. Their whole job is killing the things up close that the rest of us can’t kill from a distance. I don’t think you’d be interested in that, and besides, it’s traditionally taken by teenage girls with death wishes. I was an intern back in the day.” Rupert blinks at her, nonplussed, and Jenny reins in the overshare. “But I think I could find a place for you,” she says. “Some kind of research position or something.”

“That does sound more like me than demon fighting,” Rupert agrees. “We’ll have to discuss the specifics when I’m closer to finishing my work on the budget, but—I’d be truly grateful if you could give me the opportunity.” Jenny hesitates, rolling the next thing she wants to say around inside of her before she says it. It’s weird, probably, and too forward, certainly, but Jenny is almost forty years old, damn it, and she can manage a little emotional honesty.

“It’s not just for your benefit,” she says, looking up from her coffee to meet Rupert’s gaze. “I like you, English. I want to figure out why.”

“Oh,” Rupert says, very quietly.

“That was kinda weird to say, huh?” Jenny says. “Since we’ve known each other for, like, two days and all.”

“A—a little weird, yes,” Rupert says, not sounding the least bit upset about it. “But hardly the weirdest thing in this town.”

“Hardly,” Jenny agrees. A loud, animalistic howl cuts through the air outside, its bone-chilling tone in sharp contrast with the sunny afternoon sky. The other patrons in the coffee shop glance disinterestedly at the windows before returning to their business.

“…you probably have to deal with that, don’t you?” Rupert says. Jenny shrugs, taking her phone out and sending off a quick text to Faith.

“Faith can deal with it,” she says. “I’d rather stay here and talk about something other than demons, if that’s okay with you.” A small smile appears on Rupert’s face, and he nods enthusiastically. The howl sounds again, but Jenny ignores it in favor of asking, “So, three PhDs. Tell me about _that_.” Rupert begins to explain just how much of a genius he is—although he hardly makes it sound like that; Jenny couldn’t find him full of himself if she tried—and Jenny settles in to listen. Her phone buzzes once, as Faith informs Jenny that she’s on the case of the mysterious howl, and again two hours later, when she has found the coyote being possessed by a malicious spirit and performed an exorcism.

Jenny misses the second notification. By that point in time, she’s undressing Rupert in his motel room for the second time in as many days.

**Author's Note:**

> and there you have it, folks. happy jenny calendar day, and thanks to @jenny-calendar on tumblr for making jcd happen (and also happy birthday!). i'm on tumblr @daisys-quake and on twitter @thoughtsintoink; follow me for nightly emotional breakdowns about faith lehane. please leave a comment if you enjoyed!


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